


Sparring in the Vale

by Lady_in_Red



Series: The Ballad of the Kingslayer and the Lady Evenstar [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne and Jaime face their feelings for each other as the search for Sansa Stark comes to an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brienne

**Author's Note:**

> As this is part 2 of a series, it won't make much sense if you haven't read part 1.

Brienne woke to the sounds of Podrick quietly making breakfast. They’d been able to buy some supplies in the Riverlands but the food wouldn’t last much longer if the snows continued.  She was warmer than she’d been in days, and was loathe to move. If she didn’t move, she could hold onto the first good dream she’d had since the Riverlands. Even now she could feel the pressure of Jaime’s hand in hers.

Brienne opened her eyes and froze. Under the small pile of blankets, Jaime was resting against her, his left hand in hers, his right arm thrown carelessly across her stomach and  the side of his face pressed against her shoulder. Not a dream. Maybe they’d frozen to death and the Maiden had sent her this last vision.

 _He kissed my hand._ And Brienne hadn’t been able to move, to say a word. Nothing could have surprised her more.  If she spoke, whatever madness that possessed him would flee, and Jaime would regret what he’d said and done. It was such a small thing, that kiss, so innocent she could brush it off as a gesture of comfort and companionship, even while his lips seared into her skin and she keenly felt every inch of his fingers touching hers.

It was his eyes that asked for more than friendship. She couldn’t name what she saw at that moment, but it stole her breath and lifted some of the darkness inside her.  

And he’d bid her to live, fight, and love. As if love were so easy to find for a woman so famously homely that strangers knew her a maid on sight. Jaime could not love her. Even if he did feel affection for her, the white cloak put an end to any notion that they might have any kind of future together. He would marry Cersei if he could.

As the silence stretched out, a comfortable silence even as Brienne’s heart continued to pound, she had felt his breathing slow and his body relax. Jaime slept, even though she was the one who’d been awake most of the night already. The weight of him pressed against her side was familiar, though they’d both been less than comfortable tied to each other as captives of the Bloody Mummers. Jaime had been quietly dying then, his hand on a cord between them even as the fever took him in and out of consciousness for days. He’d murmured Cersei’s name in his dreams then. On this night, the name that tumbled from his lips, in a sigh so quiet that Brienne nearly didn’t hear it, was hers.

But now daylight had come, and they needed to try to get on the road again. She tried to look over Jaime’s head to check the cave entrance, but she couldn’t quite see over the tangle of his hair.

“My lady, the snow still falls,” Podrick whispered, noticing her. His cheeks flushed when he looked at them.

Brienne nodded, and he went back to heating water over the low fire.

Jaime began to stir, his hand squeezing hers almost painfully, his beard scraping against her shoulder as he stretched. She could feel his lips against her skin, feel the pleasant rumble as he sighed into the curve of her throat.

Brienne froze, her breath catching and a flush creeping up across her cheeks. Jaime pulled back and saw her blush. A sheepish smile spread across his face. “Good morning, my lady.”

Brienne could only nod, and she pulled free of him to get up and walk over to the fire.

Jaime looked out at the snow still falling steadily. “Podrick, let’s do a bit of sparring while we have the time. Lady Brienne can correct our wretched technique.”

Brienne had not seen Podrick grin so widely as long as she’d known him.


	2. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne learns that Tarth has been raided by Aegon Targaryen's sellswords.

The last night before they reached the Bloody Gate, Brienne and Jaime stayed up late sparring while Podrick watched from his little pile of blankets by the fire. He was a loyal lad, and Jaime was glad that he’d been with Brienne on her journey.

Jaime was starting to feel better about his skills, even though he knew that Brienne’s arm was still healing and she wasn’t nearly at full strength. Once he pressed an advantage and pinned her against the cave wall for a moment, but the sudden blush in her cheeks had nothing to do with the fight, and he released her quickly.

They had not talked about what he’d said and done. Jaime wasn’t really sure what he could say. He needed her in his life, but she needed a husband and an heir, and Jaime could provide neither. Brienne knew that. The white cloak had been the solution for all his problems when he was 15. Now it may as well be his shroud for all the choices he had left. He was beginning to hope Sansa Stark was not in the Vale.

But right now he was killing time. There was one piece of news he still needed to tell Brienne, and it must wait until Podrick was sleeping. Not long before he left his troops, Jaime had received reports from the Stormlands. Sellswords under the banner of Aegon Targaryen were raiding the islands and along the coast. Tarth was taken, and there had been no word of Brienne’s father.

A hundred times he’d opened his mouth intending to tell her. Each time he’d looked into her blue eyes and failed. Her father and her little rock in the Narrow Sea were all Brienne had left. Jaime didn’t want to be the one that took them away from her.

Finally Podrick settled down by the fire, wrapped himself tightly in blankets, and lay down facing the wall. He’d been doing that every night since he’d caught Jaime sleeping beside Brienne. Never mind that it hadn’t happened again. Within a minute, the boy began to snore.

Jaime didn’t wait. He picked up the remaining blankets, all smelling strongly of sweat and horses, and went over to where Brienne kept watch, Oathkeeper in her lap. Gently he took the sword from her, laying it down beside her left thigh, still within reach should she need it. She looked at him questioningly, but didn’t stop him. Jaime sat beside her and arranged the blankets over them both.

He took her hand, stroking the back gently with his thumb. “I need to tell you something. You’ll hear of it once we reach the Vale, and I’d rather you hear it from me.”

Jaime looked up into her face then, and there was disappointment in her eyes. “More confessions? I’ve had enough of trebuchets, Jaime.” Brienne’s voice was weary.

If only it was something he'd done. “No fresh sins, though you may wish I had one. There are reports of sellswords raiding in the Stormlands in the name of Aegon Targaryen.”

“But he’s dead.” Her protest was weak.  

“So was Catelyn Stark.” _Gods, stop being clever and just say it._ “Brienne, Tarth was raided.”

Tears filled her eyes. “My father?”

Jaime put his arms around her. “There’s been no word.”

Brienne broke then, heaving sobs escaping her as she pressed her face to Jaime’s chest and curled her fists into his tunic.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, holding her as tightly as he could.

Slowly her sobs became quieter, less violent, and Jaime loosened his grip, moving his left hand up to run through her short hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Before he could think better of it, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then another to her temple. Jaime’s hand dropped to her back and he held her, listening to her breathing slow and settle. One hand released his tunic and she brushed away the tears as best she could.

“Jaime?” How he loved to hear her say his name, but Brienne sounded so very young right now.

“Yes?”

Brienne took a shuddering breath. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Jaime sighed. “I knew you’d run straight to Tarth and get yourself killed.”

“And you think I mother Pod? I’m not a child, Jaime.”

“I know that very well.” Jaime ran his hand down her back and pulled her a bit closer.

Brienne stiffened in his arms, and Jaime cursed his quick tongue. “I keep telling you that I’m not a good man. Perhaps I’m the disreputable sort who despoils maidens in a cave,” he teased, hoping to make her laugh, even while another part of him was eager to test just how much the boy could sleep through.

She laughed, bitterly. “No, you’re not. I heard what you told Lady Catelyn. Whatever else you are, you’ve always been faithful.”

That stung more than it should. Why should that disappoint her? Jaime pulled away. “I’ll leave you to your watch then.”

Brienne grabbed his right arm, just above the stump. He could not recall the last time anyone had touched his right arm. “Could you bear to stay with me?”

“I can bear that.” They arranged themselves lying so that Brienne could see the cave entrance and still reach Oathkeeper. Brienne lay on her side and Jaime settled in behind her, pressed into her back. He draped the blankets over them, letting her rest her head on his stump while his left arm circled her waist, his fingertips brushing her flat stomach. Adjusting a blanket under his head, Jaime found himself looking at the smooth bare nape of her neck and couldn’t help kissing it. He felt a shiver pass through her and did it again just to feel her respond.

“Jaime…” Brienne warned, but there was a heat in her voice that surprised him.

“I’ve never done this before. I didn’t know there were rules.” Cersei had never let him spend the night with her. Either too afraid of being caught or simply done with him, he’d never been sure.

“Never?” Brienne sounded surprised now.

“No. Just with you, wench.” Jaime pulled her closer, until there was scarcely an inch of their bodies not touching. “Tell me of Tarth, Brienne. Someday we’ll go take back your rock and I would know it better.”

Shakily, she began to speak, and he fell asleep to the sound of her voice.


	3. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime spins a tale for the lords at the Gates of the Moon.

In the end, they had not needed to provide a story at the Bloody Gate. They were recognized at once, and Jaime was a little surprised by how easily he was admitted through the gate. The welcome his brother had received was not nearly so warm.

A hot meal and a good night’s sleep in real beds helped all of them. Jaime had not been so grateful for a bath since Harrenhal, though this time he was alone. He was alone in bed that night too, and Jaime felt unsettled without Brienne beside him.

Once they reached the Gates of the Moon, Jaime did need to explain his presence. He wasn’t sure if his disappearance was common knowledge, and he’d spoken to no one but Brienne and Pod for weeks. As soon as he and Brienne were settled into guest quarters, and Pod into the servants’ quarters, Jaime was summoned to meet with both Littlefinger and Lord Nestor Royce.

“Ser Jaime, I must admit I was surprised by your arrival. You were lucky to make it through the pass,” Littlefinger said warily. He was seated behind a massive desk which, judging by how Lord Nestor was hovering over him, belonged to Royce.

Jaime nodded. “It was unavoidable. The crown is concerned with spies.” Cersei saw them everywhere. “I must ask you not to send word of my arrival by raven for that same reason.”

“So the tale of you abandoning your troops to run off with the Maid of Tarth…” Lord Nestor prompted.

Jaime smiled indulgently. “Does that sound likely to you, my lord?” It was disturbingly easy to slip back into the role of the Kingslayer. It was, after all, what everyone expected and Jaime had much experience keeping secrets.

Lord Nestor chuckled. “Then why is it that the Maid travels with you?”

“It’s a very long tale. Suffice it to say that I felt the Maid needed a lesson on her place in the world.” Jaime looked down at his stump. Talking about Brienne in this way was harder than he’d expected. “So I told her that Sansa Stark may be with the Brotherhood Without Banners, and sent her off to seek the Lightning Lord. To my surprise she actually found the Brotherhood, and reported back to me just as I was about to come here. We were able to kill Lady Stoneheart and some of the Brothers, scattering the remainder. I brought her with me because she was less likely to get herself into trouble here than with the men in my camp.”

“A maid dressed in mail is still a maid,” Littlefinger agreed.

“Nevermind the Maid. King Tommen has need of you, my lords,” Jaime deliberately turned the conversation away from Brienne.

Littlefinger’s smile was predatory. “Does he now?”

“You cannot be unaware that sellswords under the banner of the pretender Aegon Targaryen are raiding the Stormlands.” Jaime watched the men carefully. Both men were ambitious, it was just a matter of finding the right lure. Lord Nestor had only recently been raised to lordship, and Littlefinger had been granted the cursed castle of Harrenhal. Jaime had seen it more recently than its lord had.

“I had heard that, yes. The Stormlords can defend their own lands,” Lord Nestor said dismissively.

“Ah, but many of the Stormlords have gone to the Wall with Lord Stannis. Their lands are largely undefended, allowing this pretender’s troops to come ashore and establish a beachhead. The crown is sending the Redwyne fleet east to meet them, but if a force were to come from the north as well, the Stormlands could be secured and the pretender thrown back to whichever of the seven Hells he crawled out of.” Baelish and Royce were watching Jaime greedily. “The Stormlords could hardly complain if King Tommen granted their lands and castles to the men who so bravely defended them.”

By the flashing of both men’s eyes, Jaime knew he had them.


	4. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After three days at the Gates of the Moon, Jaime and Brienne find a moment to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with my utter lack of understanding when it comes to swordplay and all that goes with it. My husband, who fenced in college, would be very disappointed.

After three days of constant snow and the endless tedium of needlework and polite conversations meant to tease information from the flighty young ladies of the Vale, Brienne was discouraged. She’d now met nearly all the ladies of both the Eyrie and Gates of the Moon households, and none of them were Sansa Stark. She had learned some interesting gossip about Lord Baelish and his unlucky bride Lady Lysa. The Lady of the Eyrie had not resembled Lady Catelyn nearly so much as Brienne had expected.

At first, Brienne had spent much of her time with Lady Myranda Royce. She had more spirit than some of the other simpering ladies, and did not stare at Brienne’s wound. But that day Lady Myranda had told her about Jaime’s meeting with the lords. To say he’d been dismissive of Brienne would have been kind, the way Myranda told it. Brienne snapped back about not caring for the opinions of men who broke every oath they ever swore, but she quickly found an excuse to leave Lady Myranda. The lords were interested in Jaime’s offer, and that was enough.

Brienne hadn’t been able to speak to Jaime or Pod privately since their arrival, though she’d been seated at Jaime’s right side tonight. She was glad to see that the kitchen servants had acceded to her request and discreetly cut Jaime’s meat into smaller portions in the kitchen to spare him embarrassment. It had been a good excuse to check the kitchens for Sansa.

The dinner conversation was both dull and pompous, as the men sought to outdo each other with tales of their valor, but Jaime was more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. The Lannister arrogance she remembered from their meeting with Lord Bolton shone through, and in his version of their fight with the Brotherhood she killed a single man through sheer luck while young Podrick slayed two. She wished Pod had been there to appreciate the lie. She had a harder time keeping the real memories out of her head. _A brass crown in a bloated, rotting hand, blood on her blade._ Jaime briefly rested his stump on Brienne’s thigh as he told the story, and the pressure brought her back to this moment.

He laughed and smiled easily, bringing Brienne into the conversation smoothly at times and at others letting her listen without forcing her to speak. In spite of the ill-fitting purple gown she wore and the stares she still felt when they thought she wasn’t looking, when Jaime smiled at her she felt as if she belonged at the table.

At the end of the meal, Jaime turned to her briefly and whispered, “Meet me in the practice yard. I could use some sparring.”

As soon as she could, Brienne excused herself from the other ladies and slipped away to the armory, which stood empty in the fading light. Snow still swirled across the ground, but the sky was clear. She wished she’d had time to change out of the gown, but supposed it was worth learning to fight in long skirts. Brienne easily found gear that fit her and selected a tourney sword. Oathkeeper was hidden away in her old bedroll, as the lords would most certainly question why she carried Valyrian steel decorated with Lannister lions.

Jaime arrived a few minutes later, cheeks already flushed with the cold. “Do the ladies speak of anything interesting?” he asked. They could not speak openly of their search for Sansa in case others should overhear. A man like Lord Baelish would have many spies in his household, given his tenuous grip on power. “The men seem keen to wed their daughters to lordlings in the Westerlands. I had to disappoint them by explaining that the Lannisters were all promised to stoats.”

“Stoats?” Brienne asked as she watched him pull on his gear. It took extra time, but Brienne resisted the urge to offer him help. Jaime would not appreciate it, she knew, and the thought of being so close to him made her stomach flip. Finally he picked up a sword and they walked out into the yard. In the light of dusk, the swirling snows were red and gold.

“Frey girls. They have a distinctly chinless look about them, and to top it off they’re Freys. Backstabbers and turncloaks, the lot of them,” Jaime replied, settling into his stance with a clearly amused glance at the too-short skirts of her gown. He made an almost lazy first strike that she parried easily.

“I’ve met nearly everyone, and they were full of gossip. Lady Lysa did not endear herself to her household. She made a habit of dismissing servants who spoke ill of her pet minstrel.  They seemed amused that he was the one to push her out the Moon Door.” Brienne shuddered . “Aside from that, they talk of naught but marriage either. Did you know Lord Baelish has a natural daughter here? I haven’t met her. They say she is four and ten and quite pretty, with dark hair. She spends all her time with Lord Robert, but the ladies say she’s betrothed to the heir to the Vale.” She pressed Jaime back purely to get closer to him.

As soon as they were close enough, Jaime whispered, “Is it her?”

Brienne whispered back, “Maybe,” before Jaime pushed her blade away and she sprang back and circled around the yard, Jaime following her.

“That’s one way to secure power,” Jaime observed. “Littlefinger is certainly not one to count on a single plan.” He smiled a little, his eyes drifting down to her skirts again as they caught in the wind. He flicked the sword down to catch at the heavy fabric, so short it exposed the boots she still wore, as no one could find slippers to fit her.  

Brienne danced away from his blade. “I know I look a fool,” she chided.

Jaime shrugged. “I’ve never fought a woman in a gown. It’s a bit distracting.” With a grace that still surprised her, he made a quick strike with his blade that landed lightly on her unprotected thigh. “The ladies must find you odd. A maid near 20 not desperate to marry. Gods, I don’t actually know, how old are you?” Jaime pressed forward again, aiming for her right shoulder. Brienne blocked it and tapped his right arm to point out he’d left it exposed.

“I’ll be 20 on my next name day, and no, not really. Lady Myranda suggested I go to Bear Island in the North and offer my sword to Maege Mormont.” Brienne actually admired Lady Mormont and her warrior daughters. Her heir, Dacey, had died at the Red Wedding as part of King Robb’s personal guard. Brienne was distracted long enough that Jaime landed a blow to her side. “I have three failed betrothals and that was with Tarth. Without it, I have nothing to offer a husband.”

“Nothing to offer?” Jaime scoffed. He pressed closer to her again, and said through clenched teeth, “Gods, wench, stop saying all you have to offer is a title and lands. Any good man would marry you if you let him know you.” His eyes were glittering in the dusk, and while Brienne knew it to be anger in his gaze, she wasn’t sure who he was angry with.

“Few men care to know me better,” Brienne nearly called him _Jaime_ and bit it back. “I think Ser Hyle was fond of me, in the end, but no more, and he’s the best offer I’ve had.”

“Hunt offered to marry you?” Jaime’s sword dropped to his side so suddenly Brienne might have broken his arm if she hadn’t pulled back a thrust he should have blocked easily. “Was that why he traveled with you?”

“No, ser, I knew him in Renly’s camp. He and some of the other men had… a bet. To see who could take me. Lord Tarly put an end to it.” Brienne hated telling this story out where Littlefinger’s spies could hear, and Jaime seemed to be forgetting he should be reprimanding her for tempting men like Hyle. “Ser Hyle joined me in Maidenpool. He asked me to marry him once.” She took the opportunity to tap his thigh with the sword, but he barely paid enough attention to attempt a block. Hyle’s motivations were easy to understand. A landless household knight, he thought he could wear her down and win himself a wealthy bride.

“And you liked that, did you?” Jaime’s voice was hard. That was accompanied by the first decent thrust he’d made all night, fluid and graceful and resulting in a painful thump to her side.

“Of course not. He said that in the dark I’d be as beautiful as any woman. At least he was honest. I don’t expect any man to love me.” Brienne returned Jaime’s strike with one that would have seriously bruised his ribs if he weren’t wearing a padded doublet.

Jaime dropped his sword and grabbed her by the shoulders, fingers painfully gripping her right shoulder while his stump crashed against the left as if he’d forgotten the hand was missing again. He pulled Brienne to him and whispered fiercely, “ _I_ would love you. I would love you with every breath for the rest of my life if you let me.” Jaime released her and backed away, running his hand through his hair. He shook his head and said quietly, “You deserve someone who loves you. Someone better than a hedge knight or a cripple with shit for honor.”

Jaime turned and stalked out of the yard, leaving Brienne standing there alone in the gathering dark. _Jaime would love me?_ It was long minutes before she realized her sword was still in her hand.


	5. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime turned and saw her standing by the window, her fists clenched at her sides. _She came straight here and waited for me._

Jaime couldn’t think anymore, his head was pounding and his hand kept clenching into a fist. He wanted to hit something, hurt something, anything to stop replaying his words over and over in his head. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, scared, hurt, shocked more than anything else. Brienne would never forgive him for this. Jaime hadn’t intended to say it, hadn’t even considered it until the words were spilling out of his mouth and there was no point in taking them back. He’d run then, to his shame. Brienne was right--he did know when to retreat.

Brienne was too honorable to accept the little he was free to offer her. Tyrion always said his mouth would get him into trouble. He wondered where Tyrion was now. Likely drinking himself to death with a whore in his lap, cursing Jaime’s name.

Jaime had no interest in whores, but he did go to the kitchens and begged a flagon of sweet red wine from a serving girl. At least his charms still worked on them.

Myranda Royce entered the kitchens as he was exiting. She took one look at him and asked, her mouth quirking into a smile, “Fighting with your lady?”

“Sparring, nothing more,” Jaime replied, slipping past her into the hall. He’d forgotten he was still wearing sparring gear.

Myranda followed. Ordinarily he liked the young widow with her quick wit and easy laugh, but right now he wanted to be alone. In a low voice she asked, “Sparring? In the yard or in her bed?”

Jaime stopped abruptly. “Watch your tongue.”

Her eyes widened at the ferocity in his voice, but then Myranda looked him up and down in the way that women had not done since he lost his hand. “If your lady won’t warm your bed, you’ll find my door unbarred,” she said saucily, her smile both familiar and unsettling.

He sighed. “Leave me to my folly, my lady. I am not good company.”

She looked as if she wanted to say more, but kept silent. Wine in hand, he made his way back to his tower rooms overlooking the yard.

When he reached the door, Jaime realized that his only hand was currently holding the wine. With a sigh, he shifted the flagon to the crook of his right arm and opened the door. As he stepped through and kicked the door shut with one foot, Jaime realized he wasn’t alone. For an instant he thought Myranda had invited herself in.

“How dare you.”

“Brienne?” Jaime turned and saw her standing by the window, her fists clenched at her sides. _She came straight here and waited for me._ Anger was not really the reaction he’d expected from her. Sullen silence, perhaps, or complaints about impropriety.

“You would love me? You’re the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Jaime. Why must you say these things?” She was shaking, he could see now.

Jaime set the wine down on a table and slowly approached her. “Brienne,” he started, reaching out to touch her arm. “I had no right. But I spoke the truth.”

She flinched away. “Then lie to me. I can’t bear much more of your truth. You told the lords that you sent me away from King’s Landing to teach me a lesson. Was that a lie?”

Jaime needed to explain, to fix this, but he’d stumbled into this fight unprepared and unarmed. “A lie. Why would you think… Who told you the tale I spun for Littlefinger?” It must all look like some kind of cruel jape to her. The Kingsguard, sworn never to marry, playing at courting her. The Kingslayer, sending her out on a quest to make her understand, finally, that she would never be a real knight.

“Lady Myranda. Her father told her.” There were tears in her eyes now, but Brienne would not lose control, not in front of him. She must be drawing blood her fists were clenched so tightly.

That was clever of Myranda. Cruel, but clever. Before he could respond, Brienne started for the door.

Jaime blocked her path, grabbing her arm with his good hand. “Please.”

Brienne struck him hard across his jaw, knocking him back, and she pushed past him to open the door.

Jaime touched his mouth, unsurprised to find blood on his fingers. He quickly reached past her, pushing with all his weight to keep the door closed. “Who’s running away now?” he asked levelly.

“I’m not running away. I’ve had enough mocking. I never want to see you again.”

Jaime searched her eyes. They were hard and cold. _Gods, I am a fool. She means it._ “Can I say one thing?”

Brienne would not look at him, but she didn’t move. “Please.” Jaime did not often say please, but he found himself saying it often to her.

Slowly, Brienne relaxed. “Be quick about it.”

“There’s my wench.” The look she shot him would freeze wildfire. “Yes, yes, Brienne, not wench.” _Does she even notice I call only her that?_

Jaime released her and she stood, uncertain, by the door. “I jumped into a bear pit for _you_. There are fewer than ten Valyrian steel blades in the Seven Kingdoms, and I gave mine to you.” He took her hand in his and pulled her closer. “I killed Lady Stoneheart for you. I followed you here to rescue a girl who hates me. If I did not have a duty to my king, I would not leave your side.”

Finally Brienne’s eyes met his. Anger had turned to pain. “Jaime.” Brienne’s voice was so soft, he knew what came next would not be something he wanted to hear.

Jaime kissed her. Gently, until she tentatively kissed him back. He dropped her hand and brought his own up to the back of her neck, his fingers curling into her hair. When a small sigh escaped her lips he deepened the kiss. Brienne was clearly unpracticed, but Jaime didn’t care. Her lips were chapped from the cold and she smelled of leather and sweat and steel. There was nothing delicate about Brienne, but the way she trembled and sighed against him made Jaime want to protect her. _I should be protecting her from me._

Her hand came up to his shoulder and Brienne pushed him back. Her eyes searched his intensely. “If this is some kind of jest…”

“I love you.” There was relief at saying the words aloud, but also fear. He'd done terrible things for love.

Brienne’s eyes closed for a moment. “What about Cersei?” Her voice was so small.

Jaime’s hand dropped. He hated bringing Cersei into this room, but she was here even if they didn’t say it. “She sent a raven begging me to come home. I burned the letter. Three days later you found me and I followed you.”

She looked away. “What did she do to you? To make you burn her letter?”

Bile rose in Jaime’s throat. His face burned and he took a step back. “She was with other men. My cousin, and some upjumped sellsword she named to the Kingsguard … I suppose one white cloak was as good as another.” He looked at his stump and his voice broke. “She was repulsed by me, because of this, because I wouldn’t kill Tyrion for her. I loved her my entire life. But I never knew her.”

Brienne’s blue eyes shone with unshed tears. “You don’t know me either, Jaime.”

There was more truth in that than he cared to admit. And yet he'd told her about everything except Tyrion. But Brienne did not share much about herself. He struggled to put the connection he felt with her into words. “I may not know every story of your childhood or every insult you’ve heard, but I know _you.”_

Eyes downcast, Brienne turned back to the door. Jaime reached out and held it closed. “Brienne, do you…” He could not finish the question.

"How could you ever doubt that?” Without looking back, she left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is always appreciated.


	6. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “His vows say nothing about having a good tumble now and then,” Mya shrugged.
> 
> Brienne gave the girl a hard look. “Mine do.”

Brienne was no longer sure where she was. She’d left Jaime’s rooms intending to go back to hers, but along the way she’d made a wrong turn and found herself in an unfamiliar corridor somewhere on the far side of the castle. At the foot of a stairway, she paused, trying to get her bearings. Every time she tried to think through her steps, she ended up with Jaime. She could still feel his mouth on hers, firm but gentle. The shock that ran through her when he ran his tongue along her lower lip. It was not at all like the kiss stolen from her long ago. Pushing Jaime away had taken all of her will.

Cersei betrayed him, and now he was taking his revenge. Would it upset her more that Brienne was ugly?

“Milady?”

Brienne turned and saw Mya Stone staring at her. Dark hair, Baratheon blue eyes. How many bastards did King Robert have?  “Mya,” she replied with a nod.

“Looking for your white knight? The Kingslayer?”

Brienne sighed. “No, I’m just a bit lost. Ser Jaime ought to be in his rooms.” _Thinking about Cersei._

“And why aren’t you there?” the bastard girl teased.

Brienne looked at her sharply. “Why would you say that?”

Mya’s face fell. “I’m sorry, milady. It’s just… the way he looks at you.”

Brienne blushed. She had clearly meant no harm. How did Jaime look at her? “Ser Jaime is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” That would never change unless another king took Tommen’s place, and Jaime would die for him if that happened. Tommen was not Robert, Aerys, or even Joffrey.

“His vows say nothing about having a good tumble now and then,” Mya shrugged.

Brienne gave the girl a hard look. “Mine do.”

Mya seemed to think about this. “As you say, milady.”

A girl brushed past behind them, going up the stairs. “Lady Alayne, how is the little Lord?” Mya called up to her.

The girl looked back over her shoulder, long dark hair flowing away from her pale, delicate face. _She looks so much like her mother._ Tully blue eyes widened in the darkness, and Sansa quickly turned away. “Much improved, Mya. Thank you.” She hurried away up the stairs. Clearly she’d been warned to keep her distance from Jaime Lannister and his companions.

“Who was that?” Brienne asked, struggling to feign disinterest.

“Alayne Stone, the Lord Protector’s natural daughter. Lord Robert adores her, poor thing,” Mya said with a little frown.

“Poor thing?”

“She has scarcely left his rooms since they came down from the Eyrie. I must go, milady. If you go back down that corridor and up the stairs, turn right and you’ll find the guest quarters.” Mya walked away.

Brienne’s head was spinning. She needed to tell Jaime.

She turned and walked quickly through the corridors. It had been perhaps an hour since she’d left him, but there were far fewer servants about now. Brienne made it back to Jaime’s rooms without seeing anyone, and was glad to find he hadn’t barred the door. She slipped into the dim space and closed the door behind her.

Brienne waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. The only light came from the fire in the hearth.

Jaime was sprawled out asleep on the bed, clad in simple linen breeches, bare skin dusted with golden hair picking up the firelight. His face was relaxed in sleep and under all the scars and the closely trimmed beard she could see a ghost of the boy he’d once been. Slowly she approached the bed and crouched beside it.

Brienne reached out tentatively and brushed his shoulder with her fingertips. “Jaime,” she whispered. She remembered the first time she’d called him by name, after they took his hand and it seemed he would die from it. After Harrenhal, Brienne had never called him Kingslayer again. She saw too well the way the title cut him each time he heard it.

Jaime smiled a little and shivered, but did not wake. He was no longer painfully thin as he’d been at Harrenhal, though still marked with bruises from their sparring sessions, and as ever Brienne found him achingly beautiful.

He kissed her to hurt Cersei. Nothing more. Knowing that made it no easier to be so near him. Brienne reached out again and could not help brushing her fingertips along his cheek. “Jaime, wake up.”

The smile returned, and Jaime stretched, the muscles of his chest and stomach moving in a way that made her breathing speed up. As his hand came out from under the pillow she caught a flash of the dagger he must have been holding. Jaime reached up to cover her hand with his. “Was I sleeping? Someone opened my door and stomped in wearing very loud boots.” His eyes opened and there was mischief in their shining green depths.

Heat flared in the pit of her stomach, and Brienne cursed her weakness again. This man made her want impossible things. As if to reinforce this, he turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm.

“You came back,” he said with pleasure. Searching her eyes, Jaime frowned. “But not for me.” His eyes were so dark in the firelight Brienne couldn’t read them. He dropped her hand and she pulled away from him.

“Lady Sansa is here.”

Jaime sat up, bringing him too close. “Forgive me, but last time you said that we nearly died.”

Brienne was only a little stung by that. She deserved his wariness. “I saw her. Mya told me she was Alayne Stone, Lord Baelish’s natural daughter.”

Jaime nodded. “I suppose that might serve if you’d never met Sansa. She was pretty enough, bright auburn hair, Tully blue eyes. That’s all I remember, but that she resembled her mother.”

“Her hair is tinted brown, but she is the very image of Lady Catelyn. She’s hiding with Lord Robert.”

“Thank the gods I can keep one bloody vow,” Jaime sighed. He eyed her still crouched by the side of his bed. “This is highly improper, my lady.”

Jaime teasing her was something Brienne knew how to handle. “I’ll just go rescue the maiden myself then.” She began to stand up, nearly stepping on the hem of her unfamiliar skirts. “You can go back to your duty and your sister.”  

Jaime grabbed her arm and pulled her back down until she sat on the edge of the bed. She’d forgotten how strong he could be. “All this time, you swore I had honor.” The fury in his voice held her as much as his hand squeezing her arm. “I nearly killed you, I left you behind, I sent you away, and you never lost faith in me. Who knew all I had to do was love you.”

Brienne pulled free, her arm aching, and stood. For once she was glad of the ridiculous gown she wore. Surely he could not continue this farce any longer. “This is what you want? Stop lying.” Brienne touched the scars of her quest one by one. “I've been clawed, hung, and eaten. Haven't I suffered enough?”

Jaime surged to his feet, his arms tight around Brienne, holding her up. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, whispered fiercely in her ear. “Stupid stubborn wench, stop fighting me. Yield, just once.”

All the breath left her with the force of his embrace. Jaime buried his face in her shoulder. The unfamiliar rasp of his beard against her bare skin made Brienne shudder and she relaxed into him. She could feel him smile against her skin, like the night he’d held her in the cave. His hand moved slowly down her back and she could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Was that so hard?” he murmured. Jaime kissed her shoulder, slowly moving up the side of her neck, tasting her skin. Brienne shivered and drew her hands up his bare back.

So dangerous, this man. How easily he claimed her. With each touch it became more difficult to focus on anything but the feel of his skin on hers.

Jaime's lips found hers, his fingers in her hair, his tongue darting into her mouth when she responded. She tried to match each move, as if they were sparring again. There was a hunger in this kiss, an urgency that Brienne had not felt before. The sudden intensity was almost more than she could bear. Her blood rushed hot, every nerve on fire, burning where his hand trailed down her neck and along her spine until it pressed to the small of her back, gathering her closer until she could feel him hard against her.

Brienne froze. She cursed the blush spreading across her already heated skin. She’d lived in a camp full of soldiers. She knew what went on between a man and a woman, but after Highgarden she’d dismissed the notion that any man might desire her.  

Jaime pulled back enough to see her face, understanding dawning. He loosened his grip on her waist, giving her more space. “I said I would not dishonor you. I meant it,” he said with conviction.

Honor again. Brienne was so tired of being more honorable than all of them, and laughed at for her trouble. No one cared if a man bedded a thousand women before he wed, but one night with Jaime would ruin her in the eyes of the realm should they know of it. _Kingslayer’s whore._ They hadn’t killed all of Stoneheart’s men. If the rumor spread, she would be ruined anyway. None would risk raising the Kingslayer’s bastard as his heir. The unfairness of it stung.

Brienne brought her hand up to Jaime’s face, fingertips lightly tracing the faint silver scars across his cheek where he’d been whipped one night, the deeper line above his eye where she’d cut him, other marks from the long years before. This was the man she chose that night in the Riverlands, and somehow he had chosen her.

Jaime sighed and sat down, tossing the furs over his lap, tugging Brienne down to sit beside him. “Much as I would prefer to stay here with you until spring, we must still deliver Lady Sansa to safety. There are fewer safe places than there once were. If not for Baelish this might have been the best choice.”

“First we must convince her not to run screaming from a Lannister,” Brienne pointed out, glad to change the subject. Her breathing was finally evening out, her heartbeat slowing to a more normal rhythm.

He laughed. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Brienne nodded. She wasn’t quite sure how to approach Lady Sansa, or how her quest would be received. Jaime and Pod complicated matters as well. “Tomorrow. Keep Pod close by. If she runs to Lord Baelish we may need to leave quickly.”

Jaime leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “Fleeing in the night has become something of a habit for us.”

“I should go.” The weight of the task ahead settled back on her shoulders, but the burden was less for being shared.

“You faced down a bear. You can handle Sansa Stark.”

He was so certain. Brienne wished she was. “If only I had two hundred men at my back now.”

“The only day I had a use for archers,” Jaime laughed. “But you have me and Pod. We’ll do what we can.”


	7. Alayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne finally meets Sansa Stark.

Alayne picked at a loose stitch and tried it again, but managed only to prick her shaking fingers.

“Are you well, Alayne? Lord Robert?” Lady Myranda asked.

Alayne shook her head. “Lord Robert sleeps comfortably. I am but concerned about the demands the Kingslayer makes of my lord father.” That was true enough. Jaime Lannister promised lands and titles in the Stormlands, but he demanded men and ships as well. The Vale could ill afford to lose either. The white raven from the Citadel had arrived today, heralding Winter.

Lord Robert was finally resting after a lengthy tantrum over his breakfast. He demanded oranges, but he’d been so greedy with them since their descent from the Eyrie that none remained. It had taken Alayne a full hour to calm him. Now she sat mending the tunic he’d torn in his rage. Lady Myranda was keeping her company as Alayne could not bear another day alone with the boy.

While the Kingslayer remained at the Gates of the Moon, Alayne must stay out of sight. Jaime Lannister had not seen Sansa Stark in close to two years, but Alayne worried more about his squire. She’d only had a glimpse, but Myranda confirmed that the squire was Podrick Payne, Tyrion’s shy, stuttering squire. If either recognized her, Sansa would be swiftly delivered to Queen Cersei’s dungeons.

“The Lord Protector will not charge off into battle, Alayne. Have no fear. He will not allow your betrothed to go either,” Myranda assured her.

Alayne had not considered whether Ser Harrold would ride off to war. They had briefly met but twice. He was charming and fair to look upon, but so had King Joffrey been once. If Ser Harrold did not return from battle, her father would find another husband for Alayne.

“The Kingslayer will depart soon enough. Lady Brienne said they waited for a break in the snows to depart for Gulltown.” Myranda sipped her wine and glanced out the window. Snow fell again, though the flakes drifting down now would not be much more than a nuisance to travelers.

Alayne had seen Lady Brienne, the Kingslayer’s companion, last night, though she could scarcely be called a lady. The woman was massive, with a badly healing wound on her freckled face. She looked like nothing so much as the Hound in a gown. According to the servants’ chatter, she fought like the Hound too. If they could be believed, she had once fought a bear.

“There is something between them,” Myranda mused. She was no one’s pawn here amongst so many men; she traded in information where she could.

Alayne enjoyed Myranda’s company, but she remained guarded at all times. “Between who?” she asked, finally succeeding in placing a handful of careful stitches in Lord Robert’s tunic.

“The Kingslayer and Lady Brienne. A maid traveling with a man of his reputation is highly improper. The squire is not a suitable chaperone, especially considering she is the sole heir of her house.”

“The Kingslayer is a monster,” Alayne replied with more vehemence than was prudent. _He slaughtered our household guard in the street, then fled the city._ “A maiden’s reputation is hardly his concern.”

“Yes, and he said awful things about her when he spoke with our fathers. But still, there’s something there. They had a disagreement last night and I invited him into my bed.” She seemed to enjoy discomfiting Alayne with her candor, and Alayne’s disgusted expression made Myranda laugh. “Oh, I know I don’t bed monsters, but the Kingslayer? Even missing a hand I’d ride that one. He didn’t come, though.”

“He beds his sister, Myranda. Lord Stannis said he fathered her children.” Alayne shuddered at the thought and the memory of Queen Cersei. “Missing a hand?”

“Outlaws struck off his swordhand. He told the tale at dinner. I thought some of the ladies would faint.” Myranda laughed at the memory. “Lady Brienne didn’t even flinch. She wouldn’t, though. She thinks she’s a knight, if you can imagine. She served with my kin Ser Robar in Lord Renly’s Kingsguard. Some say she killed Renly, then ran off in the night with Lady Catelyn Stark,” Myranda continued.

Alayne did not like the shrewd look in Myranda’s eyes. This was not the first time Alayne had wondered if Myranda had guessed Alayne’s origins. “Let us speak of something more pleasant, Myranda. Such talk is unseemly.”

Myranda laughed. “I prefer my talk unseemly, as you well know, but I should go. I’ve put off some duties that require my attention.” She finally rose from her chair and left.

Alayne breathed deeply. She longed for someone she could speak to without worry, but instead she sat here alone, mending the clothes of a petulant child whose fragile health was not the only reason to fear for the future of the Vale.

Not long after, there was a knock at the door, and when it opened Lady Brienne stood in the doorway. She filled most of the door frame, wearing men’s breeches and a soft blue tunic. Were it not for the hint of curves at hip and breast, she might pass for a man. If you did not see her eyes. Her blue eyes were disarmingly gentle.

Alayne sighed and put on her best gracious smile. “Lord Robert is resting, milady.”

Lady Brienne closed the door, and Alayne struggled to calm her nerves. “I was hoping to speak to you, my lady.”

“I am no one of importance,” Alayne said automatically, her eyes fixed on the needlework in her lap.

Yet Lady Brienne came to sit in the chair Lady Myranda had so recently left. “You care for Lord Robert. Does that not make you important to him?” she asked simply.

Alayne looked up. “Perhaps. Is there something I might do for you, milady?”

The large woman seemed unsure. Her calloused hands twisted in her lap. She was younger than Alayne had originally assumed, perhaps twenty. Finally she spoke. “As you can see, I am not the delicate daughter my father would have asked of the Seven. I follow the Warrior, not the Maid, but it is a choice I was allowed to make, to follow my own path. I would offer you a choice as well.”

“I do not wish to be a warrior, milady,” Alayne said without hesitation. She could think of nothing she would like less. “The life you have chosen seems far more dangerous than simply marrying and running a household.” She wondered what game this woman was playing. Sansa Stark would cower and run to the Lord Protector. Alayne Stone had learned from her father. She would watch and wait.   

“To simply marry a stranger and run his household would be to deny who I am. Can you understand why I cannot pretend to be other than I am, my lady?” Brienne’s speech was so at odds with her appearance. She was clearly well educated, and Alayne felt a reluctant stab of pity at the notion of this ungainly creature attempting womanly tasks like the mending she herself was doing.

Alayne remained silent. She would not admit anything.

“The choice I would offer is to be yourself again.” Lady Brienne’s earnest tone was almost unnerving after so long among the schemers and plots of court and the Vale.

“I am myself,” Alayne protested.

Brienne stood and walked to the window, where the snow was falling more heavily now. “I knew Lady Catelyn Stark. I served her.”

“And now you serve the Kingslayer,” Alayne cut her off, voice dripping with scorn.

Brienne flinched as if slapped. “I serve Lady Catelyn still. When last I saw her, she set me a task. Take the Kingslayer to King’s Landing and exchange him for her daughters.”

Alayne knew she was being baited to speak, to give herself away. “What happened?”

“We were captured, and Ser Jaime was maimed. We were taken to Harrenhal, where Lord Bolton separated us. He sent Ser Jaime on to King’s Landing.”

“And you?”

“Lord Bolton left me with the sellswords who captured us, the Bloody Mummers. They decided the ransom my father offered wasn’t worth the trouble, so they threw me in a bear pit for their amusement.”

“Yet you are here,” Alayne prompted. So at least some of the tales were true.

“I was rescued. A knight jumped into the pit unarmed to shield me. Archers finished the bear.” A small smile crossed her face at the mention of the knight. For a moment she was almost fair.

“A knight?”

Brienne hesitated. “Ser Jaime. He came back for me.”

Alayne froze. So that was the way of it. He’d saved her life and for that he’d earned her loyalty and perhaps her affection as well.

Brienne continued. “By the time we reached King’s Landing, Sansa was gone and Arya was long missing. So I set out to find them. I went to Maidenpool, Crackclaw Point, Saltpans, the Quiet Isle, and then through the Riverlands. I learned that Arya was seen headed toward Saltpans, and may have taken ship for the Free Cities. Of Sansa I found no sign.”

Alayne considered this. It had the ring of truth about it, and every time Lady Brienne turned those sad blue eyes on her Alayne felt that she could be trusted. But she had been wrong before. Time and again Sansa had trusted the wrong people. Joffrey. Cersei. Lysa. Alayne would not make those mistakes.

“The crown put a price on Lady Sansa Lannister’s head. Pray tell, how is it that a woman in service to Lady Stark travels with the Kingslayer and Tyrion Lannister’s squire?” Alayne would not tolerate this anymore. If they meant to unmask her before the Royces they could have done that by now. There was some plot at play here and Alayne had had her fill of plots.

“I did not tell my lady that Pod was Tyrion’s squire.”

Alayne went cold. _She knows. And if she knows, so does the Kingslayer._

Slowly Brienne continued. “Pod was questioned after Tyrion’s arrest, and released. He followed me out of the city. He hoped that Tyrion was with Sansa. We may go to the Free Cities from here. You are welcome to come with us, if you tire of being Alayne Stone.”

 _Go with them?_ “My lord father would not permit that. Nor would I wish to travel with the Kingslayer.”

Brienne bit her lip. “Ser Jaime will not accompany us past Gulltown.” She was stoic, resolute.

Alayne saw her life laid out before her, offered yet again as the prize to seal an alliance, birthing heirs to play in the yard with their bastard siblings, like her mother before her. Or would Myranda decide that a raven to Queen Cersei would improve her position? Would the Lords Declarant remove Lord Petyr from his position? How many more of her father's kisses must she endure? Would little Lord Robert die in childhood or live to perhaps become worse than his mother? Too many questions and Alayne had no answers. If she could find Arya, if they could be safe…. “I will consider it.”


	8. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark wings, dark words.

The snows had continued, and Jaime and Pod were working on Pod’s swordplay in the armory. Pod needed practice, and it was a good excuse for the three of them to talk.

“Do you think she’ll tell Littlefinger?” Jaime asked as he corrected Pod’s grip on his short sword again. The boy was learning bad habits from the other squires.

“I don’t know, Jaime. She was scared.” Brienne sat on a trunk in one corner, watching them. In a moment she’d start contradicting Jaime’s instruction, he knew.

“No one has tossed us in a cell yet,” Jaime pointed out, circling around to face Pod again.

“Ser, my lady, where will we go?” Pod asked.

With both of them around, Pod seemed to default to calling Jaime ser and Brienne my lady. Jaime didn’t know what to tell the boy. Tarth was overrun by sellswords and Roose Bolton’s legitimized bastard held Winterfell. Perhaps Braavos or the Quiet Isle. With winter upon them, taking her to her bastard brother at the Wall was a poor option.

“Braavos, I think. You and I will go even if Lady Sansa chooses to stay here.” Brienne answered quietly. She stood and walked over to the window, suddenly tense.

“And Ser?” Pod asked.

Jaime was still trying to decide what to say when Brienne answered. “Ser Jaime will return to King’s Landing.”

They hadn’t discussed it, but her certainty cut him. Jaime had always known he had to go back, but it was distant, something he need not concern himself with. Watching Brienne leave again was not something he wanted to think about. He hadn’t handled it with any grace last time.

“Pod, work with the practice dummy a moment.” The boy dutifully turned and began hacking inexpertly at the dummy. He definitely needed more practice.

Jaime set the sword down and walked over to stand behind Brienne. The snow fell steadily now, sweeping away the world outside. He reached out to take her hand, entwining their fingers. He wanted to hold her, but they were too close to their goal to take such risks. “Braavos?” he asked softly.

“I can’t take her to Tarth,” Brienne said simply.

“I hate this.”

She sighed. “We both knew this was coming.”

“I can still hate it. Let me have that at least,” he grumbled.  

She squeezed his hand. “I hate it too.”

“When I get back I can push the Tyrells to take back Tarth. The Hand will likely send me to fight the Pretender myself. With Father dead and Daven in the west, he’ll need another commander.”

Brienne did not reply. He couldn’t tell if the idea of Jaime winning back Tarth pleased her or not.  

“Did you ever meet my father?” he asked, suddenly unsure. Those months had become a blur of vigils, Tyrion’s trial, taking apart the Tower of the Hand brick by brick, Cersei’s scorn and madness.

“No, I spent nearly my entire stay in King’s Landing alone in a tower cell,” she reminded him gently.

Jaime grimaced. He had not visited Brienne, had not seen her until he gave her Oathkeeper and sent her away. “In my defense, Ser Loras would have followed you around badgering you for a duel.”

“I beat him at Bitterbridge. I would have been fine.”

Not for the first time, Jaime wished he’d seen that melee, if only to watch Brienne humiliate smug Loras Tyrell. “Unless he decided to ambush you, and then you would have been back in a cell for killing a Kingsguard. Don’t forget he slew his brothers in his grief when he found Renly.”

“I beat _you_ without killing you,” she said, a teasing note in her voice. “I could handle Ser Loras.”

 _Is she flirting? Who knew the wench had it in her?_ “You beat me? I don’t remember that. I do remember my hands being chained together.”

“I might have drowned you if we hadn’t been interrupted.” Her voice was light, definitely flirting.

“My foot slipped on a rock! You did not beat me,” he protested indignantly.

“And if I’d gone down when I tripped, you would have won, but I didn’t, so I won.” She was right, but he wasn’t about to admit it.  

Jaime could just see the hint of a smile on her face in her reflection in the window. He whispered in her ear, “I would have made you drown me.”

She shook her head ruefully. “Only Greyjoys believe drowning is winning, Jaime.”

The armory door opened and Jaime quickly dropped her hand and stepped away. They both turned as a page walked in holding a rolled up parchment sealed with blue wax. “My lord, a raven arrived for you.”

Brienne shot him a curious look as Jaime took the parchment. He cracked the seal and opened it. Littlefinger’s spies had done a good job of re-sealing it.

> _Ser Jaime Lannister - There can be no ransom for Lord Selwyn. He perished fighting valiantly in the initial assault. Targaryen forces hold the island. Please tell Lady Brienne that the household prays for her safety.  - Maester Lacher, Evenfall_

Jaime had sent a ransom request when they first arrived at the Gates of the Moon. He never expected to receive a response, but he’d hoped Lannister gold might persuade the  sellswords.

“Jaime, what is it?”

The page closed the door as he exited. “Pod, why don’t you go back inside? Go to my rooms until dinner. If we need to leave it will be easier if you’re not with the servants.” Jaime tried to keep his voice even, but the boy eyed the parchment clutched in Jaime’s hand and seemed to understand that the news, whatever it was, was bad.

When Pod had gone, Jaime barred the door. “Come away from the window.” He beckoned Brienne to him as he sat on a large chest.

Her hands were shaking, but she came willingly to sit beside him.

Jaime struggled to find the right words. This was nothing like his own father’s death. Jaime had seen the body, known exactly what must have happened and that he had set it in motion. Tywin Lannister had not been a father to love; he was a man to respect, to obey, to fear.  

Finally Jaime simply gave Brienne the raven’s message. He watched her read it, the parchment falling from her fingers and fluttering to the floor. Watched her retreat inside herself, eyes blank, mouth set in a grim line. He reached out quickly to take her hand. “I sent a raven when we arrived, offering to ransom him.”

Brienne nodded, but she was still far away. Jaime moved to kneel before her, dropping her hand to reach up and touch her uninjured cheek. She looked at him, but without seeing. “This changes nothing,” she finally said.

“Of course it does. You’re the Lady of Tarth.” There were people on that island that she would need to protect, to rescue. He’d be lucky if she didn’t try to run off in the night to take back her island alone. One woman armed with Valyrian steel against the Golden Company. That would appeal to her sense of honor. “If you came with me to King’s Landing to bend the knee, I could persuade my uncle to send men to take back Tarth.”

“My duty is to Sansa first,” she said without hesitation. Brienne was rigid, the muscles of her face taut under his hand.

Jaime dropped his hand to her shoulder and shook her a little. “Your duty? Your father is dead and you’re not even reacting.”

Brienne wrenched his hand from her shoulder and stood stiffly. Her eyes blazed blue fire. “Should I weep and wail? Curse the gods? By the time I leave here, all I will have left is duty.”

Jaime stood and pulled her to him roughly. “You have me.” He kissed her fiercely, trying to pour everything he had to give into that kiss. She’d lost so much just since Pennytree. Lady Catelyn and Tarth and now her father. Slowly her arms came up around him and she returned his kiss.

When he finally pulled away, there were tears in her eyes and running down her cheeks. “Today I have you, as long as no one can see us. And when we reach Gulltown, you’ll be gone too.” Brienne swiped angrily at her tears and turned away. So quietly he could scarcely hear, Brienne whispered, “You. My father. Lady Catelyn. Renly. Galladon. Mother. Alysanne. Arianne. Gone.”

Jaime wrapped his arms around her again. “I’m not dying, Brienne. Anything I can give you is yours. Gold enough to scour every city in Essos for Arya.”  

“I don’t want your gold,” she said, but he heard the unspoken _I want you_.

“We should get back. Littlefinger will know about your father by now.” Jaime led her back into the castle.

When he came out of her room, there was a cloaked figure waiting. Tully eyes stared at him with distaste. “Kingslayer.”

“My lady,” he said wearily, “I’ve no stomach for insults just now.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, so like her mother that Jaime could almost feel the shackles binding him again.

“Lady Brienne’s father was killed.”

She seemed taken aback at that, but she recovered. “No, why are you in the Vale?”

Jaime was too tired to bother with pretense. “To fulfill a vow to Lady Stark.”

“Not for your sister?” Sansa asked venomously.

“No,” Jaime said firmly. “For her.” He jerked his head toward Brienne’s door. “If you are here to tell her you won’t leave, wait until tomorrow. Brienne has lost enough today.”

Sansa made no reply, but waited until Jaime finally walked away, reminded again of how much he despised the morally-righteous Starks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luckily this is the last of the bad news poor Jaime has to deliver to Brienne, I promise! Next up we're back with Brienne.


	9. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's decision and a bird arrives from King's Landing.

Brienne had hidden in her bedchamber all evening, by turns sobbing and furious. When sleep finally claimed her, she dreamt of sinister shadows, blades wreathed in flame, blood and steel on snow. Even covered in furs she shivered until a warm body slipped in beside her, holding her close. Sometime near dawn she woke in Jaime’s arms. He had grumbled a great deal when she reluctantly pushed him out of bed and sent him back to his room. At least it had allowed her to tell him about Sansa’s visit.

Sansa loathed Jaime and did not trust Brienne, but the Vale was not the safe haven she’d been promised. Worse, Sansa claimed that Lord Baelish and Lady Olenna Tyrell had conspired to kill Joffrey, using a false gem in Sansa’s hairnet. Not that she mourned Joffrey. It seemed that no one did.

It was Pod’s presence that had decided her. Pod had been nothing but kind, shy, and gentle in Sansa’s presence when he served Tyrion, and his loyalty to Brienne was enough for her. Sansa would go with them when they left the Gates of the Moon. Just how they would smuggle her out was still not settled.

By late morning, Brienne tired of listening to ladies’ chatter, but she could find no polite reason to excuse herself from Myranda’s gossiping ladies. Myranda seemed eager to take her mind off her father’s death, as if that were possible.

When the door opened and Jaime came in, Brienne brightened. All the ladies did, she was amused to notice. “My lady, may we speak privately?” he asked.

Brienne did not miss the curious expression on Myranda’s face as she left.

Immediately, Jaime took her hand and led her to an empty room. “There’s been a bird from King’s Landing.” He caught her look and added, “No, nothing like that. Just read it.”

He pressed the parchment into her hands.

> _The King’s Regent Ser Kevan Lannister and Grand Maester Pycelle were found murdered in the rookery of the Red Keep._

“Murdered?” she echoed. They would need to leave, today if possible. Jaime should be with the King. She wasn’t ready, but this was his duty, always his duty.

“Keep reading.” Jaime was tense, his hand running through his hair, pacing the floor.

> _In light of the danger to the King, Lord Hand Mace Tyrell has petitioned the High Septon and removed two members of the Kingsguard. Osmund Kettleback, implicated in Dowager Queen Cersei’s fornications. Lord Commander Jaime Lannister, maimed last year and now missing in the Riverlands. Ser Jon Fossaway and Ser Perwyn Frey elevated in their places. Ser Loras Tyrell, recovering from burns at Dragonstone, elevated to Lord Commander._
> 
> _By order of the King, Lord Jaime Lannister is commanded to return to King’s Landing at once._

She hated the way her heart leapt when she read Jaime’s dismissal. For one moment she could see them together in Braavos, but then it was gone. Brienne shook her head. “You’re still ordered back to King’s Landing. This doesn’t change our plans.”

“It changes mine.” The vehemence in his voice and the brightness in his eyes made no sense to her.

Brienne read it all again, trying to see what he did. “Lord Jaime Lannister?”

“Yes, Lord of Casterly Rock, beholden to no one excepting the king. Nearly everything my father ever wanted for me,” Jaime said with a bitter laugh.

“So you will go to King’s Landing and play your part. I will play mine in Braavos,” Brienne replied, stretching out one hand to rest against his chest, stopping his pacing.  

Jaime pulled her into his arms. “Then you will bloody well do one thing for me before you go.”

“What?” A host of distinctly dishonorable possibilities raced through her mind as his body pressed against hers.

“Swear a vow. Seven of them.” At this Jaime smiled, so gloriously bright that Brienne’s breath caught in her chest.

She could not help but smile back at him. “You said I had sworn too many vows.”

“May these be the last vows you ever make.” His smile faded slowly, and Jaime’s eyes fixed on hers. His fingertips brushed her cheek, skated down her jaw. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but fierce. “Marry me, Brienne.”

“You don’t… you don’t mean that.” Her denial was automatic, instinctive. It was one thing to feel affection, attraction even. She could finally believe him about that. But to stand before the realm and choose Brienne the Beauty for his lady wife?

“I do. How else can I ensure you return from Braavos? And without some wretched bravo trailing behind mooning over you?” He was smiling again, teasing her. Lord Selwyn had a companion from Braavos once. She’d told many a tale of the lithe, reckless swordfighters that Brienne felt sure she could crush without much effort.

“I will come back. You need not do this.” As Lady of Tarth, Brienne could make her own marriage pact, and the same now held true for Jaime. But it was mad. She would need to bring Sansa back to take her to Winterfell or the Wall, where Lord Stannis would meet his end at her hands.

“My first thought, when I read this, should have been to wonder what scheme Mace Tyrell has planned, but it wasn’t.” Jaime leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “My first thought was, _Gods be good, now I can marry Brienne_.”

“It was not!” she laughed, shoving him with the hand still trapped between them. They’d talked about marriage before, his near-betrothal to Lysa Tully and her failed matches. Jaime had certainly never betrayed any interest in it.

“No, perhaps not that exactly,” he admitted, nuzzling into her neck. “You didn’t seem to mind me in your bed this morning.”

Brienne blushed. She had not minded finding him there, nor had she minded kissing him until the light coming through the window reminded her that a maid would soon bustle in to build up the fire in the hearth.

“Jaime,” she began, but faltered. She tried to think of what her father would say. She doubted Lord Selwyn would have approved of a marriage to the Kingslayer. If he’d met Jaime, it might have been different. _Perhaps only if Jaime did not speak._

Jaime pulled back to look her in the eye again. His gaze was steady, confident in a way she only felt with a blade in her hand. “Brienne, I can’t promise that we will ever be safe, or that we’ll always be together. We’ve both sworn too many oaths for that.  But I will love you until the day I die. Say you will be my wife.”

A year ago, Brienne would have been horrified by the idea of marrying the Kingslayer. Renly was still alive then, though he would die within days. She could scarcely recall his face anymore.

Now Jaime’s face was the one she sought when she entered a room. His voice melted away all the walls she’d built to keep out everyone who saw her and found her wanting. His touch made her burn with a heat that sparring only dampened but did not quench.

“Yes.”


	10. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime sets his plan in motion to get Sansa away from Littlefinger, and Brienne reluctantly tries on her wedding gown.

Jaime despised political intrigues. He had been happy leaving it all to Tyrion, who was nearly as good at it as Father. Cersei thought she was good at scheming but rarely saw far enough to understand the consequences of her actions. If she had, at least one of the children would have been Robert’s.

When the time came to confront Littlefinger, he approached Baelish’s study unannounced, as Lord Tywin would have. Jaime was not terribly surprised to hear a young female voice in the office with Baelish. The man did own whore houses after all.

Jaime took a deep breath and opened the door. There was a girl in the room, but she was no whore. Baelish jumped up and the girl turned to look at Jaime for a fraction of a moment before ducking behind the curtain of her long dark hair. _Sansa Stark_. In an instant his plan changed and shifted to use this opportunity.

“Lord Baelish, might I have a moment of your time.” Jaime quite deliberately did not make that a question.

“Of course, Lord Jaime.” Of course, Littlefinger had read the raven’s message first. That would make this faster.

“Alayne, we will speak later,” Baelish addressed Sansa, who went out of her way to face away from Jaime as much as possible until she could slip out the door. Without the cloak hiding her face, the resemblance to her mother was easy to see.   _Couldn’t have the mother so you took the daughter. I didn’t know you had it in you, Littlefinger._

Jaime smirked at Baelish. “I haven’t seen her before,” he observed.

Littlefinger cleared his throat. “My natural daughter, Alayne. She spends most of her time with Lord Robert. They’re very close.” His eyes narrowed as they appraised Jaime, and Baelish sat back down behind the large desk.

“Is that so? No one at court knew you had a daughter.” It was important to make the man squirm, to show him how easy it was to poke holes in the tale Baelish had concocted. The Vale lords must at least suspect. They’d seen Lady Catelyn not that long ago. Jaime took a seat opposite Baelish, moving to fold his hands in his lap before he remembered he wasn’t wearing the golden hand anymore.

“She was raised by her mother, who died not long ago. What can I do for you, Lord Jaime?”

Jaime leaned back, deliberately taking his time. “As you know, I’ve just been released from the Kingsguard and become Lord of Casterly Rock.” Baelish nodded. “My father’s fondest wish was that I marry and produce heirs to continue his line. I intend to honor that.”

Now Baelish seemed at ease. “I can certainly recommend a few options, although of course the most savvy choice is Princess Arianne Martell. Her father certainly needs to atone for the incident with Princess Myrcella.”

For a moment Jaime struggled to keep his anger under control. Myrcella’s maiming at the hands of Ser Gerold Dayne and the whole unsavory plot made Jaime far more likely to order Sunspear attacked than to wed Dorne’s princess, even if her father did have her locked away. “No, I already have a bride in mind. Not all the Storm Lords went to the Wall with Lord Stannis. While the crown appreciates the ships the lords of the Vale have pledged, the Storm Lords must contribute to the fight for their lands. A union between the Stormlands and the royal family should help sway their loyalties.”

“I have little influence with the Storm Lords, my lord. I don’t recall a marriageable maid among their houses.”

Jaime found the man’s genuine puzzlement both amusing and irritating. He recalled Lord Tywin’s sternly disappointed expression, one he saw frequently, and attempted to copy it. “No matter. The lady is currently your guest. All I require is use of your sept and your septon. Tomorrow. With winter upon us a feast is unnecessary.” And Brienne would hate being the center of attention.

He could see Baelish trying to work this out for a moment, and then his eyebrows shot up in shock. “You mean to wed Lady Brienne?” Jaime was well aware that others would be surprised by his choice, and that most would assume it was a political arrangement. Their assumptions suited his current purpose.

“Yes, and then we shall depart for King’s Landing as soon as the weather is favorable. My betrothed is not accustomed to court, and will need a lady’s maid familiar with formal ladies’ attire. I had thought to ask Lord Nestor for a lady of his household, but your Alayne should spend some time at court.”

Baelish blanched. “That is a flattering offer, my lord, but I have spent too much time away from Alayne as it is. And she is betrothed to young Ser Harrold Hardyng.”

“All the more reason.” Jaime smiled, the hard smile he remembered from his father’s many victories. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

  
  
Jaime spent the afternoon sparring with Pod and the other squires. The Gates of the Moon was without a proper master-at-arms and the boys had been taught by a series of hedge knights. None of those knights had bothered to teach them much basic defense, nor how to properly wield a shield. Jaime was not a particularly patient teacher, but by the end of their session they could use a shield and had learned several inventive curses.

When he went to fetch Brienne to dinner, he found her hiding behind a screen in her room, in the midst of trying on a gown. Lady Myranda had commissioned a gown for Brienne to take to King’s Landing, and now she would wear it for the wedding. Clear skies were expected to hold for several days, so the wedding would be tomorrow. They would leave for Gulltown the following morning.

“Baelish wasn’t happy but he knows what happens to men who displease the Lord of Casterly Rock.” Jaime settled into a chair and whistled a bit of “The Rains of Castamere” to illustrate his point.  “Pod told me Lady Alayne was here earlier. What did she say?”

Brienne was still behind the screen, refusing to show him the gown. “She wanted to know if we still sailed for Braavos. When I confirmed it, she asked why we would wed when we will be parted so soon.” He did not miss the way her voice faltered.

Reluctantly she came out from behind the screen and stood in front of a tall mirror, critically inspecting her figure. The gown was blue, though not as brilliant as her eyes. Somehow it emphasized the slight curve of her hips and reduced the broadness of her shoulders. It was as becoming as a gown could be on her, but Brienne would not appreciate or believe if he said that.

“What did you tell her?” Jaime asked, resigned. This was the way of things in war. Lords called their banners, men left their wives and if they were lucky one day they would come home again.

“I said that it was a rare gift for such as us to marry for love and we would not waste it. But I swore a vow to her mother and this was my duty.” Brienne picked at the gown, vainly trying to pull the bodice up and the sleeves down.

“At least if we are wed I know you’ll come back. The Doom could come again and you’d drag yourself across Essos to fulfill your vows.” He was smiling, each word light and teasing, but this was as true as he could be just now. Jaime did not recall feeling this raw each time he left Cersei. The raven had not mentioned her fate. _She will like my marriage less than my stump if she lives, but it is no longer her concern._

Brienne grimaced. “I can scarcely stand to look at myself like this.”

Jaime stood and came up behind her, shaking off thoughts of Cersei. He watched Brienne’s face in the mirror. “You are the Lady of Tarth. You will be the Lady of Casterly Rock. After tomorrow, wear what you like, be who you like, and direct your rather fearsome glare at anyone who dares to defy you. How do you think I manage this?” He waved his stump at her pointedly.

Brienne rolled her eyes. “You’re prettier than I am. Unless I wear a helm, this mark is all anyone sees. When I am forced to wear a gown, this one shows.” She touched the scars that grazed her shoulder and ran down her left arm. “At least the bruises have faded.”

“Tomorrow just look at me. The rest of them matter little and less.” He understood more than she knew. People still looked away from his stump. The golden hand had been a novelty, something that drew the eye because of its fine craftsmanship. The stump usually concealed under his sleeve was simply ugly. He’d taken to wrapping it in linen because the scars were still livid and he tired of discussing it. “Someday others will see you the way I do. If they don’t, my lady bears a very sharp sword and the skill to wield it.”

“Do you remember what you told Lady Catelyn?” she asked, catching his eye in the mirror.

Jaime hadn’t given much thought to that conversation in a long time, and he’d been rather drunk by the end of it. The only parts that stood out were the oaths she’d demanded from him and the sword at his throat.  He shook his head. “No.”

“She said that the world was full of injustice because of men like you. You said there were no men like you, only you.”

Jaime wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in Brienne’s shoulder. “Thank the gods for that.” He placed a lingering kiss on a patch of freckles where her shoulder met her neck and left his lips there until he felt the shiver that traveled down her spine.

“Jaime,” she sighed, warning and want in her voice, her breath coming faster.

“Saying my name like that is not helping,” he growled. Jaime held her more tightly, brushing his bearded jaw up the nape of her neck to drop another kiss behind her ear. His breath on her ear inspired another shudder. He scarcely had to touch her to get a reaction. Idly Jaime wondered what she’d be like when he didn’t have to stop. And with that thought his breeches became uncomfortably tight. The newness of this, of her, was intoxicating. “Meet me in the armory after dinner.”

“You want to spar?”

Jaime looked up at her face in the mirror, just to watch her reaction, and pressed his hips tighter to her backside, hard against her. His smile was wicked now. “Right now, I need to either fight… or bar that door and dishonor you until you scream my name.”

The blush that darkened her cheeks kept a smile on his face all through dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, a new POV.


	11. Podrick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exceedingly fluffy wedding at the Gates of the Moon

Pod walked quickly through the corridors, intent on the last-minute task Ser Jaime—Lord Jaime—had given him.

Pod had never known Lord Jaime without Lady Brienne in his life. From the tales he’d heard in the Red Keep, he suspected he should be glad of it. Even now the man tended toward veiled threats and sharp smiles, much as Lord Tyrion had. Still Pod would never forget being rescued from that cave. He owed them both a debt he wasn’t sure would ever be repaid.

Lady Brienne was different now as well. She laughed. Pod could not recall if he ever heard her laugh before the Mountains of the Moon. For all her talk of honor and duty, neither had ever seemed to make her happy.

Pod ducked through the kitchens, snatching up a hunk of bread to eat, pretending not to hear the chatter around him as he passed by. Since he didn’t talk much, people tended to forget that Pod was there, but he heard it all.

“... must be one rich little rock.”

“I heard it’s full of sapphires!”

“... no man faces a bear for a woman he’s not fucking.”

“... two of his own little abominations on the throne. Dragons’ll kill them...”

“...Slit her king’s throat because he didn’t love her.”

Just now, though, Pod had a task. He hurried through the corridors to Lady Brienne’s chamber. Inside she was dressed and ready, pacing the room with nervous energy. Someone had braided her hair in a complicated style and she looked deeply uncomfortable.

“My Lord sends you this,” Pod said, holding out the wrapped package.

She took it, unwrapped it, and found a sword belt inside. The leather was intricately tooled, and clearly more decorative than functional. Lady Brienne looked up at Pod, a question in her eyes.

“He bids you wear Oathkeeper today,” the boy explained.

A smile lit her face, and when she had dug the sword from her bedroll and fastened the scabbard to the belt at her waist, Lady Brienne looked at herself again in the mirror. Her shoulders relaxed as she touched the gold lion head pommel. She had not worn this sword since the day of his rescue. Pod did not see that fight, but he saw how she’d wielded it at the Whispers. She cut off one man’s hand with it, an act that Pod understood much better now.

They walked together to the sept, Pod struggling to keep up with her longer strides. The sept was small and simple, nothing at all like the Great Sept of Baelor where Lord Tyrion had wed Lady Sansa.

Lady Sansa was here, pretty even in her simple brown gown. Her back was stiff as she stood by the frail, frowning child who must be Lord Robert Arryn. Pod remembered well how Lord Tyrion had been forced to stand on a fool’s back to reach his proud bride. Perhaps she remembered it too, for she blushed and looked away when Pod caught her eye.

As Lady Brienne had no father, it fell to Lord Baelish to escort her across the sept to Lord Jaime and the septon, who waited before the altar of the Warrior. That was odd. Weddings were held between the altars of the Father and Mother, though Pod could not recall ever hearing of a wedding where the bride and groom wore matching swords. Pod found a place to stand behind Lady Sansa.

Lady Brienne had no maiden’s cloak to remove, as the tattered cloak she’d worn across the Riverlands was not nearly nice enough to wear here. The fat old septon eyed her with some amusement, though it was he who looked strange standing between the tall couple.

As the septon droned on through prayers and songs, Pod’s attention drifted. It was a small group, just the lords, their families, and a few select knights with their wives. He knew from the chatter that they wanted to boast that they’d attended the Kingslayer’s wedding. Most were also eager to witness the discomfort they expected from two people so obviously not well matched.

In that they were disappointed. The bride and groom had eyes only for each other. Lord Jaime had undoubtedly worn far finer garb in King’s Landing, but Lady Brienne looked upon him in his borrowed clothing and worn Lannister crimson cloak as if he was the gallant knight of one of the tales she sometimes told Pod at night while they traveled.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” the septon said expectantly. Both bride and groom utterly ignored him. The man cleared his throat. “My lord?”

Lord Jaime finally noticed him, muttering, “She doesn’t need my protection,” as he fumbled with the clasp fastening his cloak. He swept the cloak off and managed to drape it around her shoulders. Lord Jaime uttered a mild curse, startling the septon, as he tried to fasten it again with his only hand. She reached up and quickly fastened the clasp.

Pod glanced around the room, noting which people smirked or snickered. His Lord would ask later, when his wife would not hear, and he would not forget.

They turned to face the septon again. He asked for their hands, and Lady Brienne placed her right over Lord Jaime’s left. Her hand shook. The septon wrapped their hands together with a strip of cloth. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

They turned to face each other and recited the names of the Seven, then said together:

    “I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

    “I am his and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

It seemed to Pod that they had belonged to each other long before this day.

Lady Brienne took one small step toward Lord Jaime and he kissed her long enough that Pod felt compelled to look away. Lady Sansa was watching them with an expression Pod could not read.

The septon cleared his throat again and said more loudly than the small sept required, “Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly proclaim Jaime of House Lannister and Brienne of House Tarth to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them.”

Lady Brienne was blushing as they walked out of the sept, hands still bound together.

Pod followed behind Lady Sansa and Lady Myranda.

“That was interesting. I’ve not seen a kiss so … ardent at a noble wedding,” Myranda said with a laugh. “Nor a bride armed with a sword.”

“It was unusual,” Lady Sansa agreed thoughtfully.

His Lady’s happiness made Pod bold. “Very different from the last wedding I attended, milady,” he said matter-of-factly.

Lady Myranda looked back at him over her shoulder. “And which wedding was that, Podrick?”

Pod’s eyes dropped to the floor as he replied, “Lord Tyrion Lannister and Lady Sansa Stark.”

“The Imp? That must have been quite the day,” Lady Myranda said with an unkind laugh.

Pod decided at that moment that he did not much like Lady Myranda. “It was,” he said mildly. His time in the company of the Lannister brothers was beginning to teach Podrick how to use his few words wisely. His eyes flicked up to Lady Sansa’s back as he added, “The bride refused to kneel so that he might cloak her. It pleased her to shame him before the entire court.”

Lady Myranda laughed heartily at that. Lord Royce looked at her sharply as her laughter echoed down the corridor, but it was Lady Sansa who said quietly, “That was poorly done.”

They continued on to the hall where Lord Baelish had arranged a small feast, with music to be provided later by members of the household.

Dinner was uneventful, and Pod found the other two squires in attendance agreeable enough company. As dinner came to an end, the squires excused themselves, and Pod moved to an empty table closer to his Lady. There were far more important people trying to curry favor with the new Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock, and Pod was content to sit here and listen to the music and conversations around him. Lady Sansa and Lady Myranda sat at the next table, neither speaking much.

Lord Baelish was among those who came to speak to the couple. After an exchange of empty pleasantries, the Lord Protector raised his glass. “I may have underestimated you, my lord.”

“You would not be the first.” For once the Lord of Casterly Rock had no mocking smile for his opponent.

Lord Baelish sipped his wine thoughtfully. He eyed the couple shrewdly and grimaced as he said, “My dear Alayne is pleased to be accompanying you, my lady, but I must confess I am rather concerned with how Queen Cersei will treat her.”

Lady Brienne started to speak, but her husband cut in. “You have been away from court too long. Cersei will have no interest in my wife’s ladies.”

Lord  Baelish could not mask his surprise. He glanced back at Lady Sansa, who was listening intently. “Then perhaps they will not meet at all?”

Lord Jaime shrugged. His green eyes glittered dangerously. “Who can say? We intend to travel quite a bit when the opportunity arises. I trust Lord Arryn’s continued health will ensure that Alayne has enough time to learn her place in a Great House without interference from the queen. I should hate to think what might happen otherwise. My sister might hear whispers about another wedding feast.”

Pod was not quite following the conversation, and he wasn’t sure if Lady Brienne was either. There was a slight frown on her face.

Lord Baelish blanched. Slowly he raised his glass again. “To Lord Robert’s health, and Alayne’s.”

Lord Jaime touched his glass to the Lord Protector’s and nodded. Another fawning lord took his place a moment later, and Pod went back to watching the crowd. 

Not long after the dancing began, Pod noticed his Lord leave the table and slip out a door at the far end of the hall. It must be time for the bedding. Pod did not like to think how embarrassing his Lady would find this. King Joffrey had used Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa’s bedding to humiliate them both, and Lord Tyrion had threatened the king.

Lady Brienne rose and followed her husband out of the hall. Their departure went unremarked for several minutes, until Lady Myranda’s cup of wine was empty and she looked to the high table. She noted wryly, “It appears the bedding has begun without our help.” She wandered off, likely in search of more wine.

Lady Sansa stared at the high table, her brow furrowed. She turned, noticed Pod, and moved to sit beside him. In a low voice, she asked, “Do you trust him?”

Pod blushed under her scrutiny. “Who? My Lord?”

She nodded, the intensity of her blue eyes making him desperate to look away.

Pod struggled to find the right words. He would not stumble over this and he would not look away. “I trust my Lady…. They both risked their lives for me and she trusts him. Why do you ask, milady?”

Lady Sansa nodded, seemingly to herself. She took a deep breath and spoke quietly. “I want my marriage annulled. I want to prove my innocence. I can do neither in Braavos. We go with the Kingslayer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know all the Lords and Ladies gets a bit repetitive, but I figure Pod is a kid who would never think of Brienne and Jaime as anything else, much like kids with their teachers. 
> 
> While the rest of this fic has been staunchly book canon compliant, please forgive the brief dip into show canon here, as I vastly prefer the show’s handfasting and echoes of “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” to the fairly generic vows presented via Tyrion and Sansa’s wedding in ASOS. I especially liked the symbolism of the handfasting for Jaime and Brienne. So this ceremony is a blend of show!Edmure/Roslin and book!Sansa/Tyrion. In retrospect not the most auspicious beginning.


	12. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock are rather enjoying the sea voyage to King's Landing.

The first morning that Jaime reached for her, Brienne squirmed away under all the furs. Seven days had passed since their wedding, and their ship would reach King’s Landing by nightfall.

He laughed as he grabbed her bare hip again. “Not interested?” Jaime pressed his lean body against her back, tangling his legs with hers as he lazily traced the side of her thigh and her hip before cupping her breast in his hand.

Brienne shuddered under the delicate pressure of his fingertips and the friction of his calloused palm. “No, it’s just... it’s so bright in here.”

In firelight he had gently claimed her maidenhead, patient with her hesitancy and inexperience. There had been awkward, clumsy moments when he forgot about his missing hand or she misread his cues. Twice she’d reacted differently than Jaime seemed to expect, and Brienne had felt Cersei’s unwelcome presence in the room. But in the end it was just the two of them, learning this dance together each night in soft, forgiving darkness.

In daylight she was exposed. Freckled skin, heavy muscles, and so many scars.

“Let me show you how much I want you.” His voice never failed to undo her.

Brienne nodded as he rolled her onto her back and grudgingly covered her chest and belly with furs again when she started shivering with nerves and cold. Jaime pulled back and crouched at the end of the bed. Gently he picked up her foot and cradled it with his right arm. running his fingernails lightly up her instep. Brienne arched up off the bed with a groan.

Jaime kissed her ankle and trailed his fingertips up her calf, his mouth following behind. Little sparks of heat ran up her leg each time his lips brushed her skin. As he reached her knee he pushed her legs apart and moved between them. Her breathing grew more ragged as Jaime took his time exploring her thighs with his hand and his mouth. The pressure building up inside her was exquisite.

“Jaime,” she pleaded, and he chuckled against her skin.

“Patience, wife. I’m not done. You know other women would kill for such long legs.” His fingers found the scar high on her inner thigh, the last wound inflicted by his missing swordhand. Jaime’s palm covered the slowly fading pink slash in her pale flesh. He stopped there, resting his forehead against her hip. So quietly she almost couldn’t hear him, he breathed, “I could have killed you.”

She reached down and combed her fingers through the golden tumble of his hair. “Maybe.”

“Definitely.” Abruptly he pulled the furs off her, exposing her body to the cold air. Brienne gasped. Goosebumps rose all over her body and her nipples became painfully hard. Jaime pulled himself up to rest on his right forearm, drawing one nipple into his warm mouth. His hand danced along the hard muscles of her stomach and down between her thighs.

Brienne could not stifle the whimper that escaped her lips, but Jaime growled, “I love when you do that.” His fingers curled inside of her, and Brienne arched up against his hand. No matter how much he touched her, she could not get used to it, and it seemed he’d scarcely stopped touching her since their bedding.

Jaime kissed his way across her chest. She watched him move, still disbelieving that this man was hers. He was every bit as beautiful now as he’d been when she left him in King’s Landing, standing in his chambers in the White Sword Tower in his white cloak. Perhaps more beautiful, with his hair grown out and his jaw bearded again. She could watch him forever if not for the sweet pressure building as his fingers moved inside her.

“Jaime,” she moaned, toes curling and one hand fisted in the sheets.

He looked up, the green of his eyes nearly swallowed up in darkness. His cheeks were flushed, and he quirked a smile at her. “Yes, lady wife?” He brushed his thumb across the nub that nearly broke her with the intensity of pleasure bordering on pain, and he laughed softly as she panted and writhed under him.

“I need you,” Brienne whispered, barely able to get the words out.

“I’m right here.” His amused tone was so smug she wanted to hit him, but if she did that he would stop.

“Jaime…” Another swipe across her flesh and a keening sound she’d never heard before burst out of her.

“Tell me, Brienne. Whatever you want.” His voice was a dark, low rumble as he kissed her breast, her shoulder, her neck.

Before she could think better of it, Brienne seized his left arm, pulling his fingers out of her and pinning his hand to the bed. She rolled over on top of him and guided him deep inside her.

This time it was Jaime who moaned. Brienne had him pinned down, and she moved above him, reveling in feeling him so hard inside her. She did this to him. Every big, ungainly, freckled, scarred inch of her made him buck against her. Jaime looked up at her both surprised and clearly pleased. That infuriating, irresistible grin spread across his face.

Brienne released his hand and Jaime pushed himself up to kiss and nip at any skin he could reach, wrapping his right arm around her back until they were pressed so tightly together that each thrust rubbed his body against her. She could barely breathe as every nerve lit up, too bright, too sharp and she shook and cried out against him. Before she’d fully come back to herself, Jaime’s hoarse voice called her name as he thrust hard up into her once more and all the tension melted from his body.

They slipped back down onto the bed in a sweaty tangle of limbs and Jaime wrapped his arms around her. “My lady wife,” he murmured. “Lady Brienne Lannister of Casterly Rock, Lady of Tarth, the Evenstar. Bit of a mouthful, honestly. I think I’ll stick with _wench_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there ends Part 2. Thanks for coming along for the ride thus far. Please stayed tuned for Part 3.


End file.
